


Promoiros

by orphan_account



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, HOMER - Works, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles being oblivious to his own mental deterioration, Achilles is a law student and always tired, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Briseis runs the University paper and probably has more blackmail than any one person should have, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patroclus becomes more important later I promise don't hurt me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-01-25 18:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Greek, before the destined term, i.e. untimely of death, of persons, doomed to untimely death.For a while Achilles believed that everything was going to be alright. He was away at university working on a law degree, held up a respectable grade point average, and joined his classmates to row in the early mornings.That is, until he starts getting vivid night terrors of the Trojan War and everything went spiraling downhill from there.Or: Reincarnation AU that no one asked for but I have provided anyway.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	1. Night Terrors Over Coffee, and Other Wonderful Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, and incidentally, it isn't beta read either!  
Or: I re-read the Iliad and felt too many things that I just had to get out.  
I usually draw things and not write them. Come talk to me about the emotional damages the Iliad has inflicted on Instagram @antinousous.

_Greek, before the destined term, i.e. untimely of death, of persons, doomed to untimely death._

There was something truly awful about this situation.

And for a moment Achilles thought extensively of what series of events led him to be seated across from Briseis in a coffee shop while cradling a cup of coffee that did not contain nearly enough caffeine for the occasion. Tentatively he took another sip and furrowed his brows in thought. Briseis quirked an eyebrow before tapping the book between them a few times with her highlighter.

Glancing down Achilles picked out a handful of highlighted passages, something about the fall of Troy and a large wooden horse.

Did he and Briseis share a European history course?

“So you’re just going to sit there with your overpriced coffee and tell me you’re having vivid night terrors of yourself during the Fall of Troy that border on some weird reincarnation type shit?” Briseis bit out, each word laced with more and more skepticism. When put that way, surely, Achilles must have finally succumbed to the stresses of law school in a fit of insanity to the writer of the university’s student paper.

But then who else would listen to these sorts of things?

Achilles put down his cup with a deep sigh. Suddenly his black sweatshirt and joggers felt all too stuffy on him, and for a moment he could swear there were hot needles poking into the back of his neck. The anxiety settled into his bones in the most uncomfortable of ways; for his mind raced with the humiliation that Briseis would surely bring him with a witty article and the friendly comradery that came with telling Briseis anything related to politics or the latest novel that seemed to get nearly everything about feminist history wrong.

Resigned and with his attention on a piece of modern art hanging on the wall, Achilles replied “Yes. Though I regret the person I chose to talk to about this.” He couldn’t even meet the scrutinizing gaze of Briseis, the woman’s staring burning like hot coals across his person. The seconds that passed felt like hours. Achilles had never wanted to die more in his life.

“Shit, you’re actually being serious about this? Like for real?” Briseis nervously laughed, of course, never in her natural life having seen the other crumble in on himself. Never in a million years did Briseis think that Achilles was capable of showing such vulnerability or sensitivity outside of when Ajax snapped his lyre strings.

“Okay. And you think that Patroclus, the guy that sits in the university gardens with a basket of figs and a copy of Gray’s Anatomy under his arm, is the cause of this?”

“Yeah, wait, no, I mean,” Achilles fumbled over his words as he attempted to put his thoughts together. “Not directly, no. I had only met him last week during that first call for candidates willing to run for the student senate but ever since then the night terrors began and refuse to stop.”

Was this painting always so geometric? Were the brush strokes so visible before?

“Are you sure this isn’t because you’ve been playing _Assassin’s Creed Odyssey_ recently or something?” Briseis jested. She got a small pocket notebook out anyway, complete with an attached pencil, and Achilles simply shook his head at the sight of it.

“If you’re thinking of asking me specific details, I won’t give them to you. You’re delusional if you think I’m going to just tell you something as personal as that.”

“You say that as if you haven’t been doing exactly that for the past ten minutes or so.” Briseis has already gotten her notebook open and pencil ready at this point, and quickly glancing at his watch, Achilles figured he had nothing better to do with his Saturday morning besides laying in his bed watching Queer Eye until the sun went down.

And so it went.

The evening before began like any other that past week. Achilles stewing over his laptop just as the sun was about to rise over the horizon, multiple cups of instant coffee long forgotten and the curtains drawn. Rationally if anyone asked him why he was doing this to himself on a daily basis he would have answered something along the lines of “There’s an exam this Friday.” or “I want to get ahead in the notes.” but that simply wasn’t true.

If Achilles was going to be honest with anyone, he would have said “I’m terrified of going to sleep because I can’t handle watching my friends getting slaughtered on a battlefield with these hulking pieces of armour that seem to be thinner than paper, and did you know that it’s much easier to impale someone with a spear than it seems?”

Only at some point your body will demand rest after a twenty-four hour long caffeine high, and that’s how Achilles found himself at the head of a long wooden table dressed in a thin silk chiton with eleven pairs of eyes meeting his. The vague scent of figs did nothing to ease the immediate tension he found himself sitting in on while Patroclus, yes the Gray’s Anatomy carrying and fig eating Patroclus, looked at him with the most expectant of expressions.

After a beat or so, a man threw his papers down onto the table and cackled at the silence. “Is that all you have to say about the lack of progress as of late? All of that dramatic build-up, and for what?” A few others at the table stifled their laughs while Patroclus opted to fiddle with his hands in embarrassment.

Achilles strained to remember anything relevant to this supposed lack of progress and could come up with nothing. The chattering of those around him became indistinct as he stared at the unfamiliar swirling handwriting on the maps laid before him. He could vaguely make out the shape of the Caspian Sea and the western seaboard of Turkey. Everything else was lost on him. The leader lines pointing to unfamiliar places and unreliable overlapping of the coordinate planes only served to remind Achilles of the pounding headache at the base of his skull.

Eventually Patroclus proposed everyone retire for the evening, a suggestion met with no resistance as most gathered up their papers and left the tent as if in a hurry. Patroclus however remained and sat cross legged next to Achilles, a pained expression on his face.

“Are you feeling alright? Do you suddenly feel feverish? A plague has been sweeping through the camps as of late.” Patroclus asked, concern evident on his features.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to remember what’s going on at the moment.”

“What do you mean? Have you hit your head today? Oh I knew I should have had Machaon look you over today!” Patroclus’ expression grew more and more concerned as the seconds passed by, and ever the more so did Achilles feel like he was being attended to by a mother hen.

An overly attractive and friendly mother hen.

“No, I’m certain I haven’t hit my head today. Though I do wish I knew what I am doing here.” Achilles attempted to be reassuring though it only served to further cement Patroclus’ fretting. In an instant Patroclus was suddenly within a hair’s proximity to Achilles, staring between his eyes. Achilles instinctively leaned further back into his chair only to be met with Patroclus caressing his jaw and canting his head ever so slightly upward.

Do all people who read Gray’s Anatomy have the same peculiar dusting of freckles across their nose and cheeks?

“Your pupils appear to be fine. Though I am troubled by your lack of awareness of what’s going on.” Patroclus let go of Achilles’ jaw and instead took to gently stroking his arm instead. “Do you know what your name is?”

“Achilles Pelides.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Where are you right now?”

At this question Achilles halted, for he truly did not know where he was. The last thing he remembered was sitting at his desk and ineffectively trying to cram information in a futile effort to prepare for the inevitable pop quizzes promised way back in September.

He fiddled with the edge of his chiton before responding “I don’t know.”

Patroclus let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. “I understand that you’re still part god but I am convinced more and more that mortal issues like physical exhaustion still affect you.” He smiled gently before gesturing to Achilles to stand. “I only wish Chiron taught me how to handle your stubbornness better. When was the last time you ate?”

Achilles’ head swam with this sudden barrage of information. He was part god and part mortal? Professor Chiron knew Patroclus as well? And really, when was the last time he had a proper meal that wasn’t a breakfast bar and a cup of coffee to wash it down?

“I don’t know, although the truth might upset you greatly.” At this Patroclus chuckled as he led Achilles out of the tent and into the balmy Trojan evening. “I’m sure it would have, but for your sake I will assume you have only foregone your midday meal.”

As Patroclus was leading him between the other tents and soldiers that milled about under the stars, Achilles couldn’t help but notice his teammate Automedon nursing a massive arrow to the shoulder while Machaon tried to stop the bleeding as another physician attempted to yank the arrow from Automedon’s glenohumeral joint.

Achilles was only able to look in abject horror, Patroclus’ words bleeding together in the background as he watched the space the arrow head once occupied be gushing with blood and loose cartilage while Automedon let out an ear piercing scream.

He barely contained the urge to vomit as he jolted awake at his desk, knocking over countless empty mugs as he scrambled to find his trash bin so as not to empty his stomach all over his textbooks. The vivid image of Automedon’s shoulder was forever ingrained into his memory, the realism of it all being too much to handle.

And all the while Briseis was taking notes, grinning like a madman, as Achilles nursed his overpriced coffee between his trembling hands and contemplated if he should have stayed home afterall.


	2. Hopeless Pining and Other Fun Things to Do Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles spends time stewing over what happened with Briseis at the coffee shop. And mostly what that means if Patroclus knows too.

In hindsight telling literally anyone that wasn’t Briseis was probably a much better idea.

Maybe even telling his own mother about this was a better idea.

Wait. Scratch that.

Anyone that wasn’t Briseis or Thetis. That’s better.

And as Achilles settled onto this conclusion while hunched over his textbooks and laptop another one hit him like a freight train, jarring him out of his trance like state that was only achievable through unhealthy amounts of sleep deprivation in combination with drinking what was essentially a heart attack in a can.

He was suddenly hyper aware of what had happened at the coffee shop with Briseis only three days ago. Or rather, he very much forgot that Briseis was not only the single most powerful entity the school has ever seen but that she had gravitated very easily to Patroclus shortly after transferring from Turkey.

Achilles let out a groan into his textbooks as the anxiety settled into his bones with unparalleled speed. He resigned himself to the inevitable fact that Briseis had most likely told Patroclus everything about his most recent night terror, and furthermore Patroclus would be forever terrified to be in the same vicinity as him.

And really. Who wouldn’t if your best friend came to you to tell you all about how someone you’ve never spoken to has been having vivid recurring night terrors of you and your classmates dying at the hands of a bronze sword, axe, or otherwise?

All in all it was a hopeless plight. Patroclus seemed like the kind of person that would be courteous and polite regardless of how unnerved he may be, something that would forever rub salt into Achilles’ wounds every time they happened to pass one another or make eye contact in the dining hall.

This surely must be the gods torturing Achilles for not introducing himself to Patroclus during orientation week when both of them were sitting in circle formation within a nearby park playing ice breaker games with other freshmen. This was surely torture then for not seizing every possible opportunity he could have like when Patroclus said his favourite fruit was also figs, that he preferred tzatziki over hummus with cucumber slices, or even when he complimented his long hair.

Patroclus said it looked ethereal. The kind of blonde hair that people waste thousands of dollars on dyes and treatments to achieve.

And in that very moment it was very difficult for Achilles to resist the urge to ask him to braid flowers into it while the games continued, he wanted to be secluded with him as Patroclus combed his long fingers through Achilles’ hair while he laid various flowers into the knots of a loose fishtail.

But instead he was alone in his dorm room in an awkward space between pining and panicking because of someone.

Eventually he did lift his head from his textbooks and resolved to at least take in his surroundings and acknowledge how well his room reflected his emotional state. Bare off white walls, his desk cluttered with old coffee cups, his bed a hopeless burrito of mismatching blankets and a variety of items spilling out of his tiny cramped closet. If he focused enough the smell of instant ramen could be made out amongst the overbearing scent of air freshener clashing with stale coffee.

As he surveyed his room he simultaneously became aware of just how grimy he was. A reflection of his emotional stability was visible if someone were to spare a glance at him. Observably his oversized _Phthia_ hoodie was three days unwashed, his usually luminous blonde hair had been made into a greasy bun, and most likely if he stared into his bathroom mirror for more than a moment he would notice the purplish under eye circles too.

“What god did I piss off this time to deserve becoming the physical representation of the term dumpster fire?” He asked into the ether and briefly considered making a meat sacrifice to Apollo.

In his moment of lucidity he contemplated contacting Briseis, asking her what she was doing with the information he gave her.

Asking her what Patroclus thought of him now.

Achilles was only vaguely aware of Patroclus’ opinion of him, if briefly seeing each other at 5:30am everyday was any indication then he should hope it remained to be positive.

But now that he thought of it he hadn't seen Patroclus on the edges of the Charles River watching the sunrise. Not as he and Ajax raced singles and certainly not at 8am as he ran to his first class.

Not since his talk with Briseis in the coffee shop.

Getting up from his desk and stretching his legs Achilles briefly wondered why it mattered so much. Was it really a feeling of infatuation stemming from orientation week or a false feeling of adoration because of the connection he seemed to have to Patroclus in his night terrors?

For a moment Achilles felt his chest constrict painfully, the very thought that he felt affection towards a false visage of Patroclus projected through his nightly subconscious torture was unfathomable. Preposterous and yet it felt so genuine.

How could he feel such overflowing adoration between himself and Patroclus moments before disaster when he truly didn't know anything about the other?

After a bit more thinking and stretching Achilles fished his cellphone out from under his textbooks and sent Briseis a quick text.

**A-Chili’s: Coffee same time next week? **

**Bae-seis: after how coffee went this week im honestly surprised LMAO but sure ill entertain you golden boy.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly surprised that there are bookmarks and kudos on this already, so thank you everyone (even if this hasn't been your cup of tea). Words cannot express my gratitude.


	3. The Validity of Homer As a Reliable Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles and Briseis meet up again over coffee, this time to debate some strange coincidences and whether or not Homer was telling the truth in the Iliad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel truly awful for letting this fic sit for so long. There have been kudos and comments and I have been the absolute worst. Thank you for your patience with me.

Once more Achilles found himself sitting in that coffee shop, although notably much better dressed this time in his slacks and dress shirt, and with no new night terrors to discuss – much to Briseis’ dismay. The poor girl had her little notepad ready to go before she defeatedly placed it back within her purse. Achilles sipped on his coffee, something that was remarkably bitter to keep him awake. 

Really, he thought that staying awake on an unpleasant bitter flavour alone would be enough. A fool’s plight when you’ve already denied your body two consecutive night’s rest. 

“You know, considering this is all supposedly happening during the Trojan War and stuff I thought maybe you should look into like, oracles or something.” Briseis began, “You’re clearly fighting on the side of the Greeks, so it only makes sense that you’d start by looking into the Oracle of Delphi.” 

“I don’t think oracles or old stories my mother used to tell me will help.” Achilles countered before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“And why not? I don’t think a sleep specialist would give you any meaningful advice and a therapist might look at you funny.” Briseis shot back. And she did have a point. 

Achilles could only picture the poor doctor’s face, grimaced while he recounted how he witnessed a bronze axe cleave straight through one of his classmates in vivid detail. He nodded then in agreement at the thought. 

“I understand that you probably don’t worship the gods like your mother does, but they might be involved somewhat too.” Briseis ventures tentatively. “Not everyone believes in the old gods too much anymore, but it feels like they’d be involved.” 

“And why do you believe these gods would be meddling with my dreams?” At this Briseis huffed. 

“Have you not read any of the literature about the Trojan War? Like, fine, maybe the gods are just weird manifestations of what the people involved feel, but you can’t deny that the gods were super involved from the start!” 

At this Achilles thought for a moment that Briseis had truly lost her marbles. Implying that gods, gods his mother worshipped with gusto, would be involved just because some old blind poet said they were involved during the Trojan War? 

He didn’t think anyone tried to ask Homer just how much of what he was retelling really happened. 

“Briseis, thank you for your time but I really don’t think this is helping-” 

“Have you ever wondered why you’re named Achilles? And your mother is named Thetis? And I’m Briseis and we know someone named Automedon, and Odysseus, and Diomedes, and Patroclus and we’re all for some reason here in New England at the same university for some reason?” Briseis continued her tirade, standing up now with her voice coming out frantic. 

“I don’t think this is a coincidence! It can’t be!” 

Achilles rubbed his temples. “Now you’re starting to sound like Cassandra, and you know-” 

“That’s exactly my point! We also have a friend named Cassandra with weird future foresight that no one can explain!” Briseis slammed both of her hands onto the table, making Achilles’ saucer and his soul jump for a second. 

“Briseis, this all sounds plausible, kind of, but I really don’t think that we’re all a part of some weird mega conspiracy that the old gods put together. Assuming they’re real why would they even bother? What’s the point?” Achilles barely managed to keep his voice level, the more he thought over Briseis’ points the more he wanted to discredit her thinking. 

He was scared. 

“Maybe they’re unhappy with how the first go went in Troy, so they all decided to try again. I mean, there’s a lot to be unhappy with if the poetry is anything to go by but there’s no way this many kids with weirdly obsessed classical studies parents would have just ended out here on their own. No way.” At that Briseis finally sat down and waited for Achilles to retort. But it never came. 

Logically he knew she was somewhat right; it was implausible to just assume that by chance he and his classmates organically came here to this one university all bearing striking similarities to the characters involved in the Iliad. But why go through the trouble of this whole scheme at all? The gods themselves didn’t suffer terribly and had nothing to gain from a re-run. Achilles shivered with the implications. 

“But why would the gods be tormenting me specifically? I don’t think anyone else on campus is having the same night terrors. At all.” 

“And that’s still something that I’m unsure about. I don’t think we’re meant to fight each other in the parks but they chose you for a reason.” Briseis looked away at the floor for a moment, temporarily entranced with the worn-out tiles. “Could you please get some rest tonight and get back to me on this?” 

At this Achilles glared at her, the very thought of sleeping giving him goosebumps. 

“I know I know, you don’t want to, but I want you to figure out if these night terrors are potentially memories from the Trojan War or something else.” Briseis begged, and not for the first time Achilles felt like a lab-rat under her care. He grimaced, that would mean resting near frequently just to test out her hypothesis. 

“Fine. I don’t think I really had a choice here anyway.” Achilles set down his empty mug and crossed his arms, bracing himself for whatever strange idea Briseis was going to throw at him next. 

“Tonight, if you can, I want you to initiate a game of knuckle-bones with Patroclus. He should know how to play, um, you can wager a basket of figs or something.” Somehow the notepad had returned to Briseis’ grasp, and assumedly she was writing this request down too. 

Achilles simply nodded, slowly coming to the dreadful terms that he would be sleeping that evening and most likely encountering Patroclus at some point. And oh, what a truly dreadful night this was going to be. 

He hadn’t noticed Briseis getting up and leaving a few dollars on the table. 

“Oh, and by the way, Patroclus is usually in the library towards the back in between classes. He’s been meaning to talk to you about something.” 

With his heart trapped in his throat, she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually draw things, not write them. Come yell with me over the emotional damages left by Homer or Euripides or Aeschylus on Instagram or Twitter at antinousous.


End file.
